Realization
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: It's never really stated when Amon finds out that Tarrlok is his brother, and it's generally assumed that he's known all along. But what if he didn't know, until the night that he ambushes Tarrlok in the mountains, and Tarrlok tries to bloodbend him? This one-shot focuses on how Amon reacts to the realization.


He didn't realize it.

He _should have_ realized it.

He should have realized it the instant he'd heard of Councilman Tarrlok from the Northern Water Tribe.

But Tarrlok was…not a _popular_ name, but certainly not uncommon. That didn't mean it was _his_ Tarrlok from the Northern Water Tribe.

He should have realized it when he first saw Councilman Tarrlok, and saw the ice blue eyes and strong lines of his father's face. If nothing else, the three ponytails should have given it away. But even that was not an uncommon style in the Northern Water Tribe. And genetics being what they were, he'd seen many people with those similar strong features.

He should have recognized his father's tenacity in the way Councilman Tarrlok went after the Equalists. The way the Councilman never gave up, even going so far as to sweep up innocent civilians in his quest for control. The zeal with which he protected the benders of the city, at the expense of everyone else, was exactly the kind of fervor for bending that Yakone had shown.

He should have realized it when he heard that the Avatar was missing. When he just happened to catch sight of Councilman Tarrlok stumbling out of City Hall, wide-eyed and shaking. He'd known somehow, in his gut, that the Councilman had the Avatar. And he'd called in a team and followed the Councilman to this old home in the mountains. He should have known that there'd been no other way to subdue the Avatar. He should have realized it.

He should have realized it, and he didn't—or maybe part of him didn't want to—and the pain of realizing it now is worse than the pain of the bloodbending trying to force his body into submission.

The bloodbending that his brother swore he'd never use again.

He fights the bending in his body. It's stronger than he expected. But not strong enough, and he moves in and strikes, blocking his brother's chi with practiced movements. Which is for the best, because his mind is racing with other thoughts. _My brother. Little brother. How dare you. I'm proud of you. Weakling. Traitor. Stronger than ever. I love you. I'm sorry. I hate you. My brother. My BROTHER._

He twists Tarrlok's arm behind his back and forces him to the ground. _You never wanted this. You never wanted it. Taking it will be a mercy to you. _He places his thumb on Tarrlok's forehead. _You're too dangerous. You're in my way. You don't deserve this. I'm sorry. My brother._

He lets Tarrlok fall to the floor, and for once, taking someone's bending leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

As his Equalists get their feet back under them, he gently gathers his stunned brother's form and lifts him onto his shoulders. Tarrlok is a liability, of course. He would have felt the bloodbending in Amon's touch. He might expose Amon as the bender he is. He has to be kept in custody, away from benders and Equalists alike.

There is no other reason for taking Tarrlok, he tells himself. No other reason.

* * *

He comes back to the cell he's keeping his brother in. His face—his real face—is exposed for the first time in years, and he knows that Tarrlok can see in it the rounder edges of their mother's face. "Noatak," Tarrlok says. The sound of his name—his real name, to match his real face—slices through him, with as much sting as any water whip. It isn't said with joy. There are layers of accusation in the tone. _Why did you do this? Why did you do _all_ of this? Why did you do this to _me_? Why didn't you tell me where you were?_

_ Why did you leave me?_

Amon—no. _Noatak—_finds that he actually wants to answer. But he doesn't know where to start. So he just says it's over. It really is. Everything he's worked for, every scrap of control he's fought for, the identity he's built, his anonymity, his _brother's _anonymity and everything _he's _worked for. It's all gone.

"I'm sorry for what I had to do to you."

His brother just sighs, and talks about their father. "I should have left with you when we were boys," he says.

Noatak can't hide his intentions any longer. Can't hide them from himself. His brother isn't still at the North Pole, isn't still in their old hut, helping their mother cook and bowing under the weight of their father's gaze. He is _here, now, _right in front of him. And for all that's gone wrong, for all the wide gulf between them, their paths have converged once again. And he's not about to walk away this time.

He opens the cell. "Leave with me now. We have a second chance; we can start over _together._ Please." The next words slip out before he can stop them. "You're all I have left in the world."

* * *

The sea breeze is invigorating against his face. His _face._ He can't believe how light he actually feels. He hasn't felt like this since…well, since he and Tarrlok were boys. The mask he'd worn for so long had weighed him down more than he knew. And blinded him. His brother had been under his nose the whole time. But now, _finally,_ they're together again, and there's _nothing_ that they can't do. He says as much to Tarrlok, and his brother agrees. Calls him _Noatak_ again. And this time it doesn't sting, like it did before. This time, it feels like coming home.

"It will be just like the good old days," comes Tarrlok's voice, from the backseat of the boat. And for a moment—for a _moment_—he believes those words.

He should have realized his little brother had other ideas.


End file.
